


the game we play (or at least we think so)

by MarshaDecamiro, vilecrypter (MarshaDecamiro)



Series: closer than you think [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, but he see's you as a delightful person to learn about, think of this as like after summoning/early bond lvl with sherlock, with the first chapter, you absolutely cannot stand sherlock at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27875173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshaDecamiro/pseuds/MarshaDecamiro, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshaDecamiro/pseuds/vilecrypter
Summary: It's a game that the two of you play, something you've akin to a game of chess. Who could learn more about the other before the game was over.
Relationships: Fujimaru Ritsuka/Sherlock Holmes | Ruler, Sherlock Holmes | Ruler/Reader
Series: closer than you think [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044057
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ahh if i keep talking about a character i am cursed to eventually write for them i want to add more shorts to this ya know to show the relationship/friendship that slowly takes place over the course of the bond lvls. but for now, take this so sherlock will stop haunting my thoughts for just one moment.

What an infuriating and vexing servant that you have summoned. Sherlock Holmes. From the moment you met him, he has confounded you, created a plaguy of messes for you to deal with, yet no matter how much he manages to irritate you Sherlock Holmes keeps pulling you back in. And you allow it, the waves of where the two of you have between one another pull you under again and again. Only coming up for air the moment the game has ended and you close your eyes for the night, a simple promise to yourself to not seek him out, to leave him be and otherwise steer clear of him. 

Yet you continue to stand at his side, allowing both of you to mutually pick the other apart.

Sherlock being more guarded with his secrets, but that oddly charming, but irritating to see a pleased grin upturns his lips. You bite your tongue, knowing that whatever you could possibly say would just send Sherlock into a happy little tizzy of poking even more fun at you or speaking over you, confusing your next move and messing you up. Sherlock claims that is never the intent, you simply become so wrapped up in his words that you lose focus, meaning that the wrong move you made is of your own fault. You tell him to shove it before setting down your piece with a little bit more force than needed. You blame that Natural Insight of his. 

Sherlock hums, telling you to mind your own strength and temper less you want to make another wrong move (or make the pieces fall off the rickety table) while he replaces the piece you had just placed with his own. That infuriating grin and joy dancing in his eyes rile you up even more. Sherlock Holmes simply knows how to press all of your buttons, and the Ruler does so without fail each time. Both hands just dragging down the switchboard that is your entire person with some sort of glee that escapes you. Stop that, you hiss out earning another whatever do you mean from Sherlock while he waits for his turn. 

It's a game that the two of you play, something you've akin to a game of chess. An exchange of information that can be scratched at and found upon the surface level of anyone's facade. Ultimately to no one's surprise, Sherlock wins each game, seeming more pleased with whatever he manages to extract from you. 

"Fine keep your secrets, you great lummox." the sneer curls its way onto your lips while you put the pieces away, Sherlock continues looking pleased with himself. The loser puts away the game, and the loser was always you, it was annoying at first to constantly lose, but now you have simply come to accept it. Sherlock already being several moves ahead of you, seeing the possible outcomes and moves you make long before you could think it, only realizing that you had made the wrong move once Sherlock claims the piece as his own. 

Once the game and its pieces are put away you tap your fingers against the table, neither of you making a move to leave. 

Sherlock hums lost in his own thoughts for a moment before he's holding the violin he's so proud of. Placing the song is difficult, it sounds familiar, but not at the same time, yet it's pleasing to the ears. Sherlock plays the instrument with ease, feeling the hum of content from the bond the two of you share. You allow yourself to slowly be pulled under the waves once again, wrap in comforting warmth and the hum of your shared bond. Once your eyes are too heavy to remain open you sink even further into the peaceful warmth of the waves. 

When you wake up, you'll have to remember to ask Sherlock the name of the song he was playing. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: mmmm sleepy.  
> my brain: the other sherlock wip short... finish it.  
> me: this man is the devil and haunts my dreams.
> 
> Here's the second short for this ignore me just casually showing the bits that pop up when I think about Sherlock because he's really interesting and honestly looking at how a friendship would progress with him is neat! I honestly wish that I could remember his dynamics with everything from Sir Doyle's novels, but it's been years and at this point, I'm far too afraid to look up the prices of those books. Anyway enough of my babbling here you go I hope that this short is good.

Sherlock never did answer your question about what that song was, fine it wasn't like you wanted to know but that smile of his, and asking if you enjoyed it somehow shakes you to your core. Not in any sort of mystifying, or life-changing way. What shakes you to your core is how happy he sounds that you even asked him about it. How just asking him rewarded you with another look at the facsimile of a man, of a person you've viewed as one dimensional for the longest of times.

When you point that out he just raises his brow, smiling once again (in the way that you know he's up to something) changing the direction of the conversation in its entirety a normal Sherlock tactic whenever one is getting too close to the truth or to whatever he's rattling around in that mind of his. Sherlock takes control of the conversation, the two of you chatting about nothing, in particular, the challenge of another game is tempting, but you refuse it. You didn't want to lose again for the fourth time this week. 

So instead you speak, the thoughts floating around in your mind. 

"Sherlock. Since you've manifested as the protagonist of a novel series by Sir Doyle... why not just take on this story and see to its end? That Natural Insight of yours I imagine it to be pretty helpful in making sure nothing crops up again." you mutter, to suddenly go from a no-name, nobody to becoming the last Master and the protagonist of this story... was jarring.

There's so much you've lost along the way, from the weight of what was settled on your shoulders, to the doubt that sometimes leaves you frozen to the spot. To the nightmares that squeeze your heart in the dead of the night-- you cannot forget about them, the ghost of those lose cling to you. Each breath feels heavy, each step more effort than the last. 

"It's Elementary, My Friend. I'm simply not the protagonist of this story-- you're story, but should you ever feel that is becoming too much. I and everyone else at Chaldea are more than happy to take some of the weight off of your shoulders. Even if that weight is temporary, a brief moment of respite is better than none at all." 

The touch of soft fabric against your hand is followed by a squeeze, you are pulled back from whatever world you had become lost in. Heart shaking, you're quickened breath slowly begins returning to normal while you latch on to every word that Sherlock says. The Ruler becoming the stable ground underneath your feet, his words and presence is enough to put your mind at ease for at least a moment. You cling to what is offered to you freely, accepting the equally strong grip whilst the world slowly becomes clearer, more focused amidst the fuzzy haze that blankets your frenzied thoughts. 

"I am well-versed in disguises. Admittedly, I suppose that is not quite what this is, but do not be afraid to go to others for help. You disguise your pain with smiles, words of support, and encouragement even though you are the one that needs it the most due to Rayshifting. Please take care of your physical and mental health, Master. A brilliant mind shouldn't go to waste by allowing one to wallow and rot away. Care Master remember that you deserve care as much as the remaining staff does." While Sherlock speaks you find your throat suddenly dry, lips sealed tightly shut from lack of words, and your own teeth biting into the soft flesh. Sherlock calls you Master, once again followed by a tut while he tells you everything that he is doing. From placing his thumb against your lip, telling you to be gentle with your own fragility as he picks you up. 

You are tired, the warmth that Sherlock provides so freely to you from how close he holds you to his person. It's comforting, warm, you feel safe and the ceaseless noise in your mind finally comes to a halt. You surface from the warmth surrounding you only when Sherlock shakes you awake with a chuckle. 

"Even I cannot see the end of this story, but I trust your intuition I put some faith in it, you know? I remember asking that you confine yourself to something that interests me has lead to some sort of misunderstanding, your entire person interests me so do talk to me about whatever plagues your mind. Willingly speaking what's on your mind than wringing it out of you like a wet cat during our games would be delightful." 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm, chapter three. i have way too much fun with just writing my own brain worms/how others slowly become friends and open up. i'm a sucker for seeing sherlock open up/talk about himself more even if he's cryptic with it and the end result makes me want to shake him or squeeze him like a stress ball. i hope that everyone is enjoying this since i have no real idea of how long this is gonna be-- I DEF wanna write their interactions of everything that happened after lb2 because man i yelled. sorry if this chapter is a confusing read! 
> 
> basically, you the master, become far too tired from repeated battles and with using up too much of your magical energy proceed to pass out and wake up confused but feeling safe with an oddly familiar man being there as well.  
> i ended up rewriting this chapter a ton of times from the rough draft stage and again before posting it, i feel like the confusion is fitting due to the master's situation, but i hope that this small explanation is at least somewhat helpful!

You're floating atop of the water, staring at the sky with unfocused eyes. The world is burning, the sky is tinged red, and you are expected to save it a heavy task that's placed upon your shoulders, the whispers of your own doubt are overlayed with the voices of the deceased. From your world, and the Singularities that you've brought about to each one's respective ends.

Creating a cacophony of noises in your mind, those voices are all oddly growing quiet while you float atop of the water. Calls of your name, the sound of fighting, the tugging at your heart willing you, no-- commanding you to move even grows dim in your mind. You are tired. So, so tired and so you allow yourself to sink beneath the waves, under the many, many layers of your own mind without taking a breath before you are swallowed whole. All thoughts vanish beneath the waves, the heaviness that weighs down on you, your doubts, you can even feel the pulled taunt bonds with your Servant's become weakened, shaking as they attempt at pulling you back from the abyss. 

Once you open your eyes you find yourself looking at a popcorn ceiling, with those cheesy little flower-like things pressed into it. You move and realize just how stiff you are, you realize that you are laying on the most uncomfortable little mauve colored love seat in the world, sunlight is filtering into the room through sheer curtains and near it a desk or table of some sort, you couldn't for the life of you remembered for the life of you what it was called, but yellow and white flowers are housed in a vase. While disoriented and unsure of where you are, for some reason you are not scared. In fact, you feel safe, much safer than one should in your position as your confusion only becomes greater, but a wave of safety and comfort wash over you. Dragging the confusion away, and replacing it with safety. 

"Ah, I see that you have woken up. Perfect timing, the tea is ready." the voice of a man is followed by quick footsteps, you watch as the man places a tray holding a tea set down on the little coffee table between the two of you. You watch while he prepares the tea with steady hands and the confidence that comes with repeated practice before handing a cup to you. You take it, but not before jostling the cup a little bit in his hands, sloshing some of the tea onto the saucer. 

"Sorry," you whisper, fully expecting to be scolded for your nerves getting the better of you, but the man smiles making no move to scold you, the air around him remaining neutral. 

"Our nerves can get the better of us, no need for me to scold you for that when you are so obviously confused," the man responds his tone is polite, his posture perfect while he takes a drink of the tea he made for himself. Taking a sip before he looks at you, and you follow suit. The warm drink helping to soothe some of your nerves, it's nice and the tea tastes familiar. Like you've had it before, but you cannot place exactly where and when you could have had it before, regardless you still sip at it. Taking in your surroundings, the man sitting in the chair with the table between the two of you. 

He feels familiar as well, but your memory is fuzzy making it difficult to place who he is and why he's familiar. Regardless, something snaps into place almost instantly that here you are safe, and if anything dared to toe the line too close to a threat the man would handle it. How? You wouldn't know, but the combination of the tea and his presence is enough to put your mind at ease. It's silent, the gentle taps of the cups being placed onto the saucers, the sound of the spoons stirring adds to the ambiance of the room and making you feel even more at peace. The man making no move to sit next to you, presence known but keeping himself at a distance. Never crossing over into your space even when making you another cup of tea. 

"Would you like to hear a song?" the man asks suddenly holding a violin, and before you could respond he plays. 

It's familiar, it makes your heart lurch, and the sudden strong pull you feel with each note played. You drop the teacup and its saucer, clutching at your chest and confused as to why it feels as if something is pulling at your heart. Threatening to tear it out all while it steals the very breath from your lungs. You gasp, your words become jumbled, your mind is thrown into a spiral that you find yourself unable to bring to a heel. All while the man continues to play. You bunch the fabric of his shirt in your fingers, keeping one hand pressed firmly against your heart as if it would keep it there. 

"Stop it!" you scream, out of breath before tipping forward on unsteady legs, the man cradling you as if you are something precious. Something important, and the tugging in your heart becomes even more fervent. 

"Wake up Master." the violin is gone, but the song is still ringing in your ears, all while the man rubs gentle circles in your back. Lips placed gently against your forehead before his fingers become tangled with your own hand against your chest. He easily weaves his fingers with yours, pulling your hand towards him lips pressed against your knuckles his voice is a whisper against your skin. Asking you to allow him to bring you back, to open your eyes as he and everyone else is waiting for your return. 

**-**

With a quick, sharp breath your eyes snap open, the dream slowly slips through your fingers while you stare at the familiar ceiling of your room at Chaldea. You feel sweaty, tired and like your body is made of lead. Groaning you turn to look at the clock that you keep on the nightstand next to your bed, it reads three in the morning making you even more displeased about being awake at such an early hour, pushing it to the side when you noticed the slumped figure of Sherlock sitting in a chair at your bedside in his first ascension clothes, minus the odd contraption that's normally around his waist. 

You notice that one of his hands is gently holding your own, while the other is resting in his own lap. In a vain attempt to distract yourself from the way your face heats up while you take in Sherlock's slumped figure, his lack of coat, and how he looks the tiniest bit of disheveled. His normally perfectly brushed and styled hair sporting a few strands poking about everywhere is a sight to behold on its own. Sherlock move's in his sleep, his hand letting go of your own, but you chase it. Holding his hand even though your arm is partly hanging off the side of your bed, making you uncomfortable. 

You continue to hold his hand, ignoring the way your arm starts to stiffen, rewarding you with that pins and needles feeling for your stubbornness, but you refuse to let you. Sleep claiming you once again, allowing you to fall into a dreamless, but restful sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a little bit short and not what i was originally going to post, but !!!! i just wanted to write something short and kinda sweet.

Somewhere along the way, your relationship with Sherlock slowly started to change. It happened without you noticing it, until one day where you found yourself laughing at Sherlock's expense. The Ruler less than pleased at how quickly you changed sides whilst he played a game of chess with Da Vinci. 

Despite Sherlock telling you, it's rude to be so loud in the middle of a game that pleasant little tug of at your bond said otherwise. That little tug alone is enough to make the two of you just stare at one another before you clear your throat and give the first excuse off the top of your head to leave as quickly as possible. Face flushed while you walk back to your room, ignoring the delicate, almost playful tug at the bond that seemed to be asking for you to come back and watch till the end of the game. If Sherlock did so on purpose or accident is beyond you, maybe it’s best if you squish down any idea of asking Sherlock because the Ruler would simply smile and mostly just ignore the question entirely. Asking if you think that’s what he was doing or another whatever do you mean situation. 

Nope! None of that usual back and forth, Sherlock has far too much fun with riling you up. An odd hobby you’ve told him, asking that he find a different one, but he insists that you are far too much fun for him to not in his words pick at you. What an infuriating and vexing person you’ve become attached to. Through no fault of your own! Not at all. Not in the least bit-- letting him worm his way into your life has possibly been… what a bother you cannot find any words besides being thankful. 

Thankful that the Ruler somehow became attached to you upon being summoned, originally it irked you to no end, but now… it was nice. To have bonded with someone else has done you wonders, allowing you to take one step at a time. While at times the ground under your feet is still a bit uneven, a mix of your own doubts and the uncertainties of everything happening, Sherlock always offers you a hand when it’s needed. Steading you once more, helping you to find your center and take another step. His words are awkward like a foal learning how to stand on its own legs but well-meaning. It’s often enough to help you press forward, trusting not only yourself but Sherlock as well. 

You hum lost in thought before glancing at the calendar, you notice that the fourteenth of February is just around the corner. An idea comes to mind and you allow yourself to be swept away, a small thank you for Sherlock being there for you in the form of a silly little chocolate almost made the world feel normal again. 

"You seem pleased Master," Sherlock's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, but he doesn't wash away the excited buzz in your veins. His eyebrow is raised as if he has a question he wants to ask you, he seems to consider whatever he might have to say for a moment, chewing on his own thoughts for a moment before he resumes speaking, "Whatever could have brought this about?" 

"Mmm, whatever do you mean?" 

The little noise that escapes Sherlock's normally prim, propper, and composed form at your response does not go unmissed, nor will you allow him to forget it. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh i'm doing this update from my phone due to computer issues right now!! i'll be checking over this chapter again later tonight/early tomorrow so i apologize for my mistakes! 
> 
> this chapter is related to the beginning of lb2, but it's vague enough to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn't played it yet!! but please be cautious/avoid reading jic i was unable to keep it vague enough!

The distance between the two of you has started to close, bit by bit you've allowed each other into your respective orbit. Your smile is the gravity that allows Sherlock to peacefully float around you, the same inviting warmth that you share with Mash and DaVinci now extends to him. It grounds him, helping him to stay in place. To not lose himself to the words he once was I'm paper. His hand reaches out for your own, in this cold, bitter place, but his strength fails him. 

Your hand is close enough to touch, yet too far away to hold.

The bitter cold seeps into his bones, shaking him to his core. He has regrets, but those regrets will never escape the tight seal of his lips. But if he is allowed to state one regret… it is the absolute broken and defeated tone of your voice that he could still hear loud and clear over the howling of the wind. It reminds him of tea that was steeped for too long. He cannot move, even if he wants to the very core of his being shakes, but it cries out to comfort you. 

Yet he cannot even do that. how pitiful, he thinks, but Sherlock blames that tender, that fragile bond that rattles around in his heart. The bond that ties the two of you together, but he doesn't hate it. It brings him comfort. The comfort of knowing you are okay, and he is the one bearing the pain in your stead. Yes. For just a moment, one single moment this pain that would be unbearable for you, he will shoulder it for you with a smile. 

"Sherlock!!" you call to him in such a sad tone of voice, a tone that pulls him back from the brink just enough to reassure you that he is still here. 

Your hand that was once too far away to hold, is now close enough. Sherlock hums, content to feel your warmth slowly chase the bitter cold that has carved its home into his bones. Warm, comforting, and familiar. His core shakes and rattles with each breath, but once Sherlock focuses on your reassuring grip and familiar warmth. He sighs, allowing himself a moment of weakness knowing that should he fall you would catch him. And if he should fall apart, you would gather his pieces and put him back together once more. 


End file.
